


Pinion

by Kiyaar



Category: X-Factor (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Mild Gore, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Linear Narrative, Sad, X-Factor 231 - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:48:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyaar/pseuds/Kiyaar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Cap_IM Holiday Exchange 2013. </p><p>Tony is off-world when Wanda says the thing. Steve isn't. How the events leading to X-Factor 231 might have happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pinion

 

 

Steve wakes up, facedown, in a pile of debris in what used to be Midtown, and tries to scream through the blood in his throat. 

Some of his face gets left on the concrete when he picks his head up. 

 

***

 

  
Carol spackles cream cheese over her bagel.   
  
“Do you think, though? I’d be exhausted if my father was always trying to kill me. Or have me killed. Whatever.”   
  
“That’s probably libel,” Steve says, cramming half of his own bagel into his mouth. “You should maybe reconsider accusing the King of Spartax of premeditated murder. In public.”   
  
Carol shrugs. “Tony says he’s a shit.”   
  
Tony, who’s going to be home in 3 hours, 20 minutes, and 31 seconds, by Steve’s watch.   
  
“Hey, have you heard from our Genosha contingent?” Steve says. “They haven’t checked in since last night.”   
  
“You’re the first person they’d call if they ran into problems,” Carol says. “Relax.”   
  
“I am relaxed.”   
  
“No, you aren’t, you’re all preened and eager,” she says.   
  
Steve ignores that. “So, the Avengers levels of the tower are empty,” he barrels on, because he is not transparently gay for anyone but Carol, “and we still have 3 hours until he gets back.”  
  
“Don’t you have a brass meeting?”   
  
“No,” Steve says. “Cleared my schedule.”   
  
“No,” she decides. “You’re not eager.”   
  
“Are you gonna assist?” Steve says. “Or not?”   
  
The glee that makes its way onto Carol’s face should not be allowed. “It’s practically an invitation,” she agrees.   
  
“We could rearrange all of the armors,” he says. “I’m pretty sure there’s a protocol that makes them dance.” He shrugs. “We could do it in an hour, tops.”   
  
“We could just tell him we’d eloped,” Carol says. “You’d get roughly the same effect.”   
  
There’s the edge of a laugh on Steve’s tongue, because the morning is bright, and in 3 hours he’s going to get to see Tony, Tony, who will stalk off the Quinjet and bitch about Reed for hours while Steve works the knots out of his back, Tony, who will roll his eyes when Steve asks about Peter Quill and kiss him and climb into his lap and squirm while Steve touches him and tells him how loved he is.   
  
Someone screams outside.

 

***

 

Steve wakes, and Tony is holding a needle. 

 

***

 

Midtown is rubble, and Tony fights his way through a crater the size of an aircraft carrier.

  
There are bodies, some of them not bodies, and someone – some _thing_  rushes him, slithering around his legs before he screams and repulsors the shit out of it.  
  
After, his armor tells him it was a civilian.   
  
He thinks, vaguely, that he should be fighting, but there are too many to fight, and Steve –  
  
His armor reads 6.089 billion mutant life signatures planetwide. 

 

***

  
  
  
  
“Oh my god,” is the first thing he remembers hearing Tony say, hushed and strained and grieved.   
  
 _Tony_.   
  
It rushes out of him, the thought, before he even sits up. Tony is safe, he thinks, before he thinks anything else, before he realizes he can’t lift his head because it’s  _heavy_ , before he realizes that everything is the wrong shade.   
  
He screams.  
  
The pain is like burning, it’s everywhere,  _Carol_ , he thinks, and another scream makes it out of his mouth like a mournful roar.   
  
“Steve,” Tony says, but his hands shake where they’re touching Steve’s face. “ _Steve_.”   
  
 **[INITIALIZING. . .]**  
  
He rolls his head to the side, delirious with pain, and sees something shine in his soft focus.   
  
Later, he’ll remember the moment, the abject disbelief,  _it can’t be_ , this isn’t real, this is a nightmare, this is something called up from hell, expressly for him, but now he only tries to roar with his anger and feels that  _snap_ , and suddenly his nerves are on fire and all that’s in his brain is   
  
 **[SYSTEM ERROR, REBOOTING. . . ]**

 

***

 

Steve stands in the street outside the coffee shop. 

“Where’d it come from?” Steve yells. “Carol?”  
  
The ground shakes beneath his feet, and the words get stolen from his mouth as the streets fill with people screaming.   
  
Running, they’re running, too, because one of the skyscrapers a few blocks north is falling, surreally slow, the bulk of it sliding to the ground before the dust cloud rushes out in a splintering wave.   
  
He spins around, but Carol’s gone.   
  
In her place is something massive and hissing and burning with flame, like when she was Binary, but terrible, the shape of her face wicked and sharp, the lines of her body smooth and black and hissing with fire.  
  
“Carol,” Steve gasps.   
  
She turns at the sound of his voice, and then burning black coiling energy  _erupts_  from her and –  
  
This is how it happens that the last glimpse of humanity Steve ever gets is blinding and white and suffocating.   
  
The last thing he feels is  _rage_  and something massive punching out of his chest, before he melts, like slag, to the flame of her. 

 

***

  
  
Tony is holding a needle, and Steve is upright, somehow.   
  
“Don’t look down,” Tony says, and reaches for his face. “Look at me, Steve, look.”   
  
 **[DESIGNATION: A.E. STARK. BP ELEVATED 145/96, HR 90 BPM]**  
  
His face feels like it’s burning. Tony’s hands are cool, clammy, smelling of equal parts phosphorus and copper. Tony –   
  
Tony’s  _hand_ , he can only feel one of them, oh, god, he’s paralyzed, he’s –  _Jesus,_ no –   
  
 **[CALIBRATING. . .]**  
  
And just like that, there’s warmth on both of his cheeks.   
  
He sucks in a breath that doesn’t feel like it reaches his lungs.   
  
Tony swallows, his eyes sunken and purple. He hasn’t shaved in days, it looks like. Steve doesn’t recognize the facility they’re in; there’s broken glass everywhere. One of the walls has an enormous dent in it like the Hulk decided to land a blow. There’s a workbench behind Tony, disassembled components of one of his helmets strewn across the surface. They could be in one of his armories.   
  
“I made a decision,” Tony says, swallowing, his throat beading up and down, and Steve –  
  
Steve reaches his hands up to feel his own throat, except –   
  
Except he feels warm metal against his throat instead of skin.   
  
 **[21.769% ADAMANTIUM-5, 70.998% VIBRANIUM, 07.233% TITANIUM, IMPURITY EST. 0.0000000012%]**  
  
“What did you do,” Steve gasps, except it’s not his voice, it’s something like his voice, some re-creation using filters and audio samples. The look that comes across Tony’s face is something Steve hasn’t seen often, but he’s seen it before, once before they worked everything out with the SHRA, once when Sharon lost the baby and Steve lost himself in inconsolable rage for 2 days in the gym and it took Tony breaking his arm to snap him out of it –   
  
“I need you to listen to me,” Tony says. 

 

***

  
  
When Tony finally makes Earth orbit, half of the Peak is gone.   
  
Tony sees the debris, sees it listing, spinning on the wrong axis like a rusted-through top, sees the sun just starting to rise on the other side, sees the sparkle of metal and brass and bodies laid out in a dirty smear between Earth and the Moon.   
  
There isn’t a single Avengers alert waiting for him. He tries Carol before he tries Clint, and Jan, and Natasha and Sam and Peter. There are concerns. There are responsibilities. There are failsafes and all of them  _failed_ and he is alone and he doesn’t have a clue what happened.   
  
Code scrolls out in his visor, and Tony watches the cloud of a nuclear blast blossom up from Alaska.   
  
 **[STEVE ROGERS, LOCATED.]**  
  
Tony prays. He rockets through the atmosphere with abandon enough to burn the paint off of the outer layer of his armor, down, down, down, tearing through the sky to see a giant swirling maw in the middle of the Atlantic, with his stomach a gaping hole. 

 

***

  
  
“I made a decision,” Tony says, and something shifts and grates inside Steve’s chest – 

 

***

  
  
“I’ll miss you,” Tony says.   
  
“You’re the one that’s leaving,” Steve says. He touches Tony’s perfect back, and Tony stretches like a cat, pressed up against his chest.   
  
“Hold down the fort?” Tony says, and steps on his feet to kiss him. 

 

***

  
  
Steve looks down.

It’s exquisite, like everything Tony builds. It’s disgusting how smooth it is, how elegant. Perfect tech, like the armor Tony bleeds out of his bones, but red and deep blue, perfect tech over every inch of him, and he swallows and chokes, and that’s something, he still has a mouth, god, he runs his tongue over his cracked lips, he –   
  
He  _quails_ and retches onto the floor.   
  
“Please tell me this isn’t real,” Steve gasps, but it’s for show; none of it even reaches his lungs. “Oh my god, Tony, please,  _Tony_ –”   
  
“You were  _dying_ ,” Tony says. “You were – you had napalm burns, Steve, what the fuck was I supposed to do? Your mutation saps your healing factor, I don’t –”  
  
Dust, burning, the  vaguest memory of lying in a pile of rubble before it’s  _called up_ in perfect 1080P, an ocular memory of things that he doesn’t consciously recall scrolling across his field of vision: his skin charred black, Carol’s eyes twin points of magma in her face and then –   
  
It wasn’t napalm, he thinks.   
  
Every nerve in his body fires at once, and his metal limbs feel like they’re burning.   
  
It  _hurts_. It hurts enough that he’s kneeling and gasping on the floor, and Tony looks wretched.   
  
“I had to do something to suppress it,” Tony says, stumbling over the words. “You’re doing something with your subconscious, you – hurt me,” he finishes, barely loud enough for humans to hear, but Steve can hear, he can hear everything, every shallow breath Tony draws in through his punctured lung, every thrum of his racing heart –   
  
“Your mutation,” Tony rounds off in a whisper.

 

***

  
  
Tony wrenches the doors of Area 51 open, sobbing, bleeding, without Steve.

 

***

  
  
“Get it  _off_ ,” Steve says, and Tony coils back like he thinks Steve might rip him apart.   
  
(He wants to, part of him wants to, Tony–) _  
  
_The full-body nerve shock hits him again, stronger, this time, and he goes down to his knees and screams in pain.  
  
His knees clank on the floor, because he’s made of  _metal_  –  
  
“ _Please_ ,” Tony begs, “just listen, it’s  _temporary,_ ok, it’s not meant to be permanent, I had to do something. Wanda did something, don’t, Steve, don’t freak out,  _please_ ,” he begs, and Steve wants to hide his face, he wants to bury his head, he wants Tony to  _hold_ him and he  _won’t feel it_  –   
  
He touches his face, and –  
  
His face –  
  
“Get it off!” Steve screams, hoarsely, but he can’t make the volume he used to. His voice levels out at 89.2089 DB, and he’s on his feet again in .0983 seconds,  _flawless_ , there are reaction times and statistics spooling out in front of him like he’s wearing a visor, but he  _isn’t_. There’s a mirrored wall across the room. He has to see, he has to –  
  
Half of his face is covered in metal.

 

***

  
  
“No,” Tony breathes, to no one, because there isn’t anyone, because he’s moved 4 tons of rubble to find him, and that cannot be Steve.   
  
No, because he left 10 days ago, stood on his toes to make up the inch in height difference, kissed Steve in the bathroom tasting of mint, kissed his mouth, his lips, and –  
  
Steve’s lips are burned, charred to an ugly black, gaping to show his teeth set in bleeding gums.   
  
Half of his face is burnt off.   
  
Tony scans and scans, because that isn’t right, because he has to have vitals, he’s still warm, he’s hot to the touch, and Tony touches him and shoves whatever female husk of a body is next to him away and tries to pick him up and some of Steve’s arm comes off in his gauntleted hands –

 

***

  
  
He looks, for as long as it takes to steady his hands and lower Steve into the stasis tank, for as long as it takes the shit that used to be cotton to be peeled off what’s left of his skin as the green slime washes over him and  _preserves_.   
  
He spends 5 hours gutting the suits Fury lets him store here, gutting the walls for circuitry and components, gutting, while Steve lists in a tank of green slick. Bones and some parody of flesh.  
  
At the end of it, he has something he would have been proud of building, once, and Steve still doesn’t have a heartbeat. 

 

***

  
  
Half of Steve’s face is covered in metal, and the rest –  
  
There  _isn’t_ a rest. He looks like guys in pictures from Vietnam, half of their faces melted off, his nose _burnt away_  with some wretched amalgam of skin covering it, he’s – he has  _one eye_ , he has one eye and the other one is something glowing and red, he’s  _metal_ , all of him is metal, he’s grotesque, there’s a coil of wire feeding out of his chest and into some unit on his back, and he realizes with a jolt it’s  _keeping his heart beating_.   
  
“What did you do to me,” he says, and he rounds on Tony, he feels like he’s going to be sick, but there’s nothing to come up, he knows, his – it’s already compensating for things like organs, that’s why he’s so heavy, there’s –  _circuitry_ inhim –   
  
“It’s life support,” Tony says, “We need to get somewhere safe. You were – ” he looks at the ceiling like he’s _lost_. “I can’t do this alone,” he says desperately. “Someone set off nukes, Steve, in Europe, and here, and there’s – we’re in the bunker underneath the Triskelion,” he whispers. “I didn’t know where else to go.  _I don’t know if there’s anyone left_. Let me explain – ”  
  
“My face,” he says helplessly, my _everything_ , he wants to say, and chokes, and Tony’s at his side in an instant, and it takes 2.4 seconds for the metal over what used to be his arms to adjust to the sensation.  
  
“It’ll heal,” Tony says over him, “if I can figure this out! I kept it simple for now; it’s based on those experiments A.I.M. was doing, the Deathlok project – ”  
  
Steve spins around faster than his brain ever fired.   
  
“For now?” he says. Tony can’t be fucking serious, this can’t be  _real –_  
  
“Your muscle was coming off in my fucking hands,” Tony says, and he’s shaking. “What was I supposed to do?”   
  
“Get  _help_ ,” Steve says incredulously, and the look on Tony’s face twists miserably.   
  
“From  _who_ ,” Tony says, inches from yelling. “ _Everyone is dead_ , Steve, or – monsters,” he gasps. “I don’t know all of it yet, but – ” He swipes a desperate hand over his face and looks at the ceiling. “I came back to find you  _dying,”_ he says, his voice shaking with it, “and Reed was – and when I picked you up, I – ”  
  
Tony scrubs his hands through his hair. “Fuck,” he says hoarsely.   
  
“You  _what_ , Tony,” Steve snaps.   
  
“I had to get you back,” Tony whispers, like it’s any explanation.   
  
Tony brought him  _back_.   
  
 **[PARAMETERS EXCEEDED, COOLDOWN INITIATED. . .]**  
  
Something hisses into his neck, and code scrolls across his vision again.   
  
“Oh my god,” Steve says, “oh my  _god,_ ” and he’s on his knees again. Tony is there with him, saying things,  _I panicked_ ,  _I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ , bending to kiss him even though the disgust is plain on his face. What’s the point, his mouth is a weeping gash, he’d rather be dead than  _this,_ and Steve hates it, pulls away, he can’t, he hates everything, he hates Tony for this,  _he hates Tony_  –   
  
“This is what you do when you  _panic?_ ” Steve says. “Did you even  _think_?” Steve says. “Tony, what the  _fuck were you thinking–”_    
  
“I’m sorry,” Tony chants, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but you were – listen, just – there are 6 billion mutant biosignatures,” he whispers hysterically. “We got back, and New York was – they’re not  _regular_ mutants, Steve, I don’t – something  _happened,_  something changed, you have something, Steve, whatever happened, you’re an  _omega-level mutant_ , do you understand? I tried to rean – touch you and you –  _projected_  something, ok, it only showed up on IR sensors, it  _attacked me_ , I  _had to_ ,” he says. “I think it’s some manifestation of your subconscious. I put in neural suppressors until I can figure it out, until I can figure all of it out, until I can  _build you something better,_ ok, but I need you to be able to fight until then – ”  
  
“THERE IS A METAL PLATE BOLTED TO MY SKULL,” Steve roars.   
  
He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about New York, he doesn’t care, this isn’t reversible, he knows it, he can fucking feel it. Tony did this. Tony panicked. This is what Tony does when he panics; he builds. He tried to build Steve back to life and Steve  _doesn’t want it –  
  
_ “ _Steve_ ,” Tony pleads. “It’s just temporary. It’s just – I know, I just wanted to – I can build you something like Barnes had, ok, if we can get to one of my armories, I can scavenge synth–”  
  
Tony can scavenge to make him a nicer frame.   
  
Steve upturns Tony’s entire workbench with no effort at all.   
  
Tony presses himself flat to the wall, but Steve’s  _scanners_  don’t register his armor anywhere.   
  
“IN WHAT UNIVERSE _,”_ Steve bellows, and he kicks what’s left of Tony’s lab table into the wall like it’s nothing, “IS THIS AN ACCEPTABLE COMPROMISE?”   
  
Tony is crying, and the feeling thrumming in Steve’s chest is –   
  
Rage, when maybe it should be pity.   
  
“I wanted to save you,” Tony says, and he looks terrified, he looks as terrified as Steve feels, but there’s _nowhere for it to go_. His arms start to tingle again, and he realizes that there’s nowhere for physiological responses to go, so they’re just absorbed into the system.  
  
“I DON’T WANT THIS,” Steve shouts. “Look at me, Tony, LOOK AT ME! You brought me back to be  _this_? Who  _are_ you, who fucking  _DOES THAT?_ ”  
  
“Steve,  _no,_ ” Tony all but sobs, “It’s just  _tech._  If I can figure out your mutation, I can fix your healing factor, but all of your energy is going to your fucking –  _id,_  that’s why I  _suppressed your mutation_ ,  _Steve_ ,  _I will fix this –_ ”  
  
“We don’t all  _want to be machines_ ,” Steve snarls, and Tony looks like he’s been struck.   
  
“You’re not,” he snaps, tears streaming down his face. “You’re not, Steve, it’s  _you –_ ”  
  
“Did you give me Extremis,” Steve snarls, “Did you make that decision for me, too – ”  
  
“It’s  _a neural link_ , Steve, the suit is – it’s healing you,” Tony says desperately. “It’s just to monitor your brainwaves and control the biometrics while I figure out how to fix your mutation.”  
  
“It’s not a SUIT,” Steve screams. “ _I CAN’T TAKE IT OFF.”_  
  
Tony presses his hand to his mouth like he’s about to sob.   
  
“I couldn’t lose you,” he says, and something  _snaps_  in Steve’s chest.   
  
Steve strikes him across the face.   
  
 **[ERROR: PORTS 8023-11308. . . COMPENSATING. . . ]**  
  
Tony goes down, hard, his head cracking against the opposite wall, the double-paned glass falling in shards around him.   
  
He looks up, terrified, and Steve –  
  
He just hit Tony.  
  
Tony feels, with a shaking hand, at the back of his head, and Steve’s body stands still.   
  
That should feel wrong, but it doesn’t feel like anything.   
  
 **[ERROR: PORTS 8023-11308. . . COMPENSATING. . . ]**  
  
“What’s the system telling you,” Tony says, suddenly deathly quiet.   
  
The system gives him a target. Tony Stark. Targeting.   
  
It sends shudders of fabricated pleasure up and down his spine.   
  
“What was that,” Steve says, the words sharp and irritated on his tongue. He has to know; it’s an imperative shuddering through every cell of him.   
  
 **[NEURAL BOLT FAILING. . . COMPENSATING. . .]**  
  
“What happened to me,” he snaps. “You said – you said you had to contain it. What did you have to contain?”   
  
Tony’s fear sends his sensors spiking.   
  
“You have no impulse control,” Tony says. “It’s like – superego,” he pants. “You have no superego. You’re all id.”   
  
 _You hurt me,_  Tony said.  _I had to._  
  
“Steve,” Tony says, his hands coming up like the shield Steve wielded once, “it’s ok, the suit – ”  
  
“It’s fine,” Steve snarls. “The suit is controlling it, but I’m a  _monster_  the minute it comes off, right?”  
  
“Steve – ”  
  
“OH, RIGHT,” Steve roars. “IT ISN’T COMING OFF.”  
  
 **[KERNEL PANIC. . .**  
  
 **NEURAL BOLT BREACHED, SYSTEM SHUTDOWN in 28, 27, 26. . .**  
  
 **RESOLVING. . .**  
  
 **ATTEMPTING TO COMPENSATE. . .**  
  
 **ATTEMPTING TO COMPENSATE. . .**  
  
 **CONTAINMENT PARAMETERS CORRUPTED. SERVICE UNIT IMMEDIATELY.]** _  
  
_“Take me offline,” Steve says, walking over to the console. It shows his biosigns, his everything, the way three of his organs have been replaced, the extensive braidwork of wires Tony has so very carefully laid into his abdomen, the perfect sterile precision of it all. _  
  
_The artist in him is lost, the soldier in him is snarling, and Steve is never going to touch Tony again because his hands are made of metal and his body is broken and half of him is a machine and Tony had no right, he had _no right_ ,  _how could he –_  
  
“Something is wrong,” Tony quavers.   
  
Steve wrenches the cable he knows plugs into the back of his neck out of its housing, and slots it into his  _body_ with a shudder.  

That should be enough. He knows enough about circuits to know what happens when you overload one.  
  
“ _Don’t_ , Steve,” Tony is gasping. He’s up, but he’s not even reaching for his armor ( _fool)_ , Steve could paint the walls with his blood if he wanted, why does he want that –   
  
Tony screams, and Steve looks down to see his own blue hand crushing Tony’s wrist.   
  
“I can take it offline,” Tony says, his endorphins spiking as he sends the armor out to coat his arm. “Something is wrong, just let me – what are you  _doing – ”  
  
_ “You’re not  _listening_ ,” Steve says, and throws him down.   
  
 **[DESIGNATION: A.E.STARK, FIBULA FRACTURED]**  
  
Tony gasps, on the floor.   
  
“You’re still you,” Tony says. “Please,” he hisses, his mouth a bloody mess, his left eye dark with blood around the ring of his iris. “I think – please let me, please,  _please_ ,  _there is no one left, Steve –_ ”  
  
“Turn me off, Tony,” Steve snaps, and Tony –  
  
Tony stands still as death in the middle of a sea of glittering shards of glass, and Steve watches the armor spill over his filthy clothes.   
  
Steve’s arm turns into a cannon, and he fires, because attack seems like the best option.   
  
“I’m not going to let you do this,” Tony says.   
  
“You don’t have a choice,” Steve says, and opens the circuits. 

 

***

  
  
Nevada is quiet, and smells like dust, instead of metal and blood.   
  
The armor keeps him standing long after he should be able to, lets him brace his legs and heave the doors open when his lung has collapsed, helpfully injects him with painkillers and stimulants and things that help him mimic life. Puts 02% of system energy into tracking the lone Starktech signature moving North over the Rockies.  
  
Tony screams with the effort it costs his body. His armor is only at half-power, but he twists his face into a snarl behind the faceplate, gets a hand in, then an arm, digs his armored feet into the ground soft with dry leaves and heaves the bay doors open.   
  
 **[ACCESS – ANTHONY EDWARD STARK, GRANTED]**  
  
The lights come up as soon as he steps through the inner doors, one thousand of them, gleaming red and gold and silent in the silo.   
  
He swore he’d never use them, but desperate times.   
  
He should feel relief, as the eyes come up in glowing pairs, but all he feels is nothing.   
  
When he leans over the console to download the code, he looks at his golden hands, smeared with Steve’s blood. 

 

***

  
  
“Hello, Steve,” Tony says, years later. “It’s been a while.”   
  
Tony wonders what it’s like for Steve to see him like this.   
  
Grey.   
  
“Hello, Tony,” Steve says. “You don’t have any more whiles.”  
  
At last, Tony thinks, and wonders if Steve can die, again. 

 

 

 

 


End file.
